


America, Amer...ia?

by aFallenDawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, But so is everybody else, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, F/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Not an Epic, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Parent Voldemort (Harry Potter), Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Tags May Change, chapters will be shorter, the Golden Trio is stupid, this is a novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aFallenDawn/pseuds/aFallenDawn
Summary: Sixteen years ago, Voldemort watched as his wife and daughter vanished before his eyes. When a young American witch named Ameria London waltzes into his life, nobody is prepared for what happens next. AU, Canon Divergent after 6th year.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

There was a whirlwind, and then bodies were falling. First, there were ten, and then there were twenty, and the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort could only watch in amazement as his most talented fighters fell to the might of whatever was at the center of this deadly storm.

* * *

The girl at the center of it all could see nothing but the jets of colored light hurtling towards her. She spun and dodged and threw up shields in the midst of sending out her own. Her blonde hair whipped about her face, obscuring her features, but her pale skin was torn and bruised, as she had avoided some but not all of the flying orbs. She knew why she was being attacked, but the reason was a lie. And Ameria London would make them pay dearly for falling for it.

She lost herself in the chaos, time slowing as she took advantage of each millisecond to analyze strategies and patterns. She found none, and continued to whirl about as she battled to save her life.

It was as though someone had thrown a wall up between Ameria and her attackers when a deathly pale wizard stepped forward. His presence parted his followers like the Red Sea, and his piercing red eyes challenged them not to obey. When he spoke, it was clear that he respected her as a warrior and nothing more.

"Now what pesky little mudblood just won't die?" the man snarled at her. To his immediate left, a man with long blonde hair cackled.

"I don't know, but she doesn't look like much, does she?" he replied, notes of reverence lying beneath words of hatred.

The pale man stepped ever closer, and Ameria could feel her heart almost beating out of her chest. She wondered if she was going to die, in the middle of a deserted street, because of a lie they believed. "They never do, do they, Lucius?" his soft, silky, and yet somehow snake-like voice spoke as his eyes studied her relatively thin frame. "And yet, they always surprise us."

Ameria struggled to find her voice, but she knew why she was here. "If you honestly think I'm a mudblood you can rot in hell," she muttered, her voice slightly rough from disuse in the battle.

Red eyes pierced her skull as the body they belonged to circled her. "So you're not a mudblood. Good. It would be a shame to kill someone as talented as you on a street corner," the silky voice came again.

"I know who you are, Voldemort," she blurted, steeling both her nerves and mind. "You don't scare me. After all, I came all the way across an ocean just to join in the fun."

The blonde made a noise of surprise, but whether it was caused by her casual use of the dark wizard's name or her revelation that she'd traversed an ocean to join their cause she didn't know. "Perhaps she'd like to join us, My Lord," he suggested quietly. "We could always use new recruits."

His poor attempt at humor didn't amuse Ameria or the Dark Lord. "Or we could spill her blood for spilling ours," he hissed in her ear as she felt the tip of his wand dig into her neck.

"I will not be made a servant to anyone," she hissed back. "Not even you."

"Do you wish for death, little girl?"

"If I wished for it I would have it. People have always had a hard time saying no to me."

She had sealed her fate, she was certain of it. There was no way he would let her live when she'd killed so many of his followers and blatantly denied his authority so many times in less than five minutes.

Just as she had heard him begin to breathe out the first syllables of the killing curse, the blond man interrupted as faint pops filled the air. "My Lord, the Ministry is beginning to arrive. We need to leave."

He hissed and grabbed her arm before her world went black.

* * *

As soon as her feet hit solid ground again, Ameria found herself shoved onto it roughly. A foot then connected with her ribs, before the snakelike voice of the Dark Lord spoke again. "Enough, Lucius," he chided. "A broken rib can be achieved by much less barbaric means."

The blond grumbled but stepped back, and the girl got to her feet, that same defiant look in her eyes. "Where the hell am I?"

"That's unimportant," the man she'd deduced was Lucius replied. "What matters is that you're going to die."

"Are all British wizards this charming?" she retorted to the man's superior. "I was really hoping for a warmer welcome. Just because your country is rainy doesn't mean your attitudes have to be."

The tall, thin man reached out and struck her hard across the cheek, sending her hair flying about her face. "Maybe before I kill you, I'll cut that tongue of yours out."

"I'd like to see you try."

He glared at her for what seemed like an eternity, and for the second time that day, she was convinced that she was going to die there and then. After what was only a few moments, though, he looked away. "What is your name, little one? I want to know who I'm about to have the pleasure of killing."

"I'm Ameria London. And if you're going to kill me, I hope that you at least bury me in a nice coffin." The brazenness that sparkled in her brilliant emerald eyes challenged the hate in the man's ruby ones.

"Ameria London. All the way from America, I presume?"

"Glad to know you listened to me earlier."

"Your accent and callow insolence betrays you, child," Lucius said, smoothly sliding into the verbal sparring match. "At least you had the decency not to wear those horrid boots you Americans are so fond of."

"Cowboy boots are only practical on a cattle ranch. No sense in wearing them in the rain and messing up the leather."

She saw the man's hand curl into a fist at his side as he silently seethed. "Can we go ahead and kill her, my Lord?"

"I don't see why not, Lucius," Voldemort replied, and for the second time in an hour, she was shoved to the ground, her hair falling away from her face as she sank to the ground.

The Dark Lord stalked toward her to kill her, already incanting the killing curse, and, for the second time that day, stopped short as his wand found the small snake and skull tattoo behind her ear. "Now what, Miss London, is the meaning of this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! This is an idea I've been playing with for a while, and I'm quite excited to finally be fleshing it out. As of right now, it's looking less epic-length and more novel-length, and chapters will probably hover around 1500 words. But we're still at the beginning, and as we get into the meat of the plot, our wonderful Miss London may have quite a bit more to say. We'll see. As always, kudos and comments are always welcomed and appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

The thin man flicked the blond waves away from her tattoo as she gulped. "You'd better start talking, Miss London. I don't like repeating myself," he hissed at her, his ruby eyes boring into hers.

"It's a tattoo. I've had it since I was a baby," the girl stammered. "My mom said my father gave it to me so that I'd -"

"Always remember what you were fighting for?" Voldemort cut off the girl glaring at him defiantly, and when she nodded, he immediately fled to the other side of the room as if afraid to be near her. "Let me guess, she also told you that it was your father's legacy?" The way he said it, it was a statement, the exclamation point getting lost somewhere from his mind to his lips.

"She said that too, yeah," Ameria answered, climbing back to her feet. "But why do you care what my mother said?"

Voldemort turned away from her and began to pace, leaving the two other people in the room bewildered. Then a vase near the window broke, followed by several other small trinkets.

"My Lord?" Lucius questioned, clearly worried about his master's already fleeting sanity.

"Get her out of here," the Dark Lord growled. "I need to think."

"Where do you want her kept? The dungeons or -" the blond man stammered, reaching for her wand and starting to lead her from the room.

"A guest room will be fine," Voldemort answered. "And you can let her have her wand. She can't hurt anyone here anyways."

The blond man gripped her arm tighter as he led her from the room hastily. As soon as they were well away from the room, he let go, but not before showing her into a luxurious room.

"This is your room. You're not to leave until the Dark Lord decides what to do with you. Is that understood?" he questioned, his dark grey eyes cold and hard.

"We'll see. I might get bored," she responded, determined that they wouldn't control her.

Lucius Malfoy clenched and unclenched his fist again, and Ameria could tell that he was aching to plant it somewhere on her body. "You're an insolent brat," he spat. "Just do as you're told." With that, he left the room, slamming her door behind him.

The force of it made her jump. "Shit!" she exclaimed, walking over to the bed and exhaling long and slow. "Just what have I gotten myself into?"

* * *

As soon as the girl was gone, the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort sank down into the chair behind Lucius's desk and buried his head in his hands. He knew he should've killed her on that street corner, but there had been something about her insolence that reminded him of himself when he was young.

Then, they'd arrived at the Manor, and she had proceeded to disrespect him at every turn. It seemed as though she was incapable of realizing that he was her better in nearly every respect, and she just _had_ to let him know that. Her bright green eyes had sparkled as she defied him, and he knew that she'd enjoyed it, even as he moved to kill her.

Finally, he'd seen the tattoo behind her ear. That had been what had shocked him most, and when he'd heard her explanation of it, he'd nearly lost it there and then. He couldn't, no, he didn't want to believe it. But he couldn't deny the evidence. The young woman he'd brought to Malfoy Manor seemed to be none other than his America.

Lucius slipped back into the room after a few minutes. “She’s in a guest room, my Lord,” he offered.

Voldemort looked up at the man and sighed heavily. “Drop the ‘my Lord’ stuff, Lucius. There’s no need for such formality among friends.”

The man nodded and took a seat in one of the plush armchairs in the study. “What would you have me call you then? Voldemort?”

Voldemort chuckled. “Your point is made, Lucius.”

The blond inclined his head deferentially. “I have no death wish, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord merely waved his hand. “I assume you’ve realized what I have about our young Miss London.”

“That she’s your daughter, my Lord? Or that there’s no way in hell that you’re going to be able to kill her?”

“Both,” he stated, sighing again. “I always wondered what she’d look like grown up. Whose eyes she’d have, whose hair. Who she’d take after in personality. If she’d be in Slytherin, like me, or if she’d follow her mother into Ravenclaw.” He looked up at his most trusted follower, his only friend, his confidant, and it was plain to see how hard it was for him to be reunited with his daughter. “And now, she’s likely to hate me. I did, after all, try to kill her. Twice.”

Lucius chuckled. “She’s just killed about thirty people. I don’t think she’s too bothered by a few threats,” he offered, and the wizard at his desk smiled. “But the real question is, why is she here alone? Where’s Adrienne?”

That elicited another, longer sigh from Voldemort. “Those are questions that only young Ameria can answer,” the man admitted, knowing that there was a chance he could be wrong about the girl’s identity. “But before we start pressing her, I want to make sure it really is her. Whatever tests you need to do, run them. Call Severus if you need to.”

The blond man nodded, leaving the room soon after, and Voldemort returned to the slumped state he’d been in when he arrived. It had been years since he’d been anything other than the ruthless Dark Lord the world knew, since he had been a family man, and he didn’t know if he still had it in him to love the way a father was supposed to. Moreover, he didn’t even know if this young woman he supposed was his daughter would even accept him. He had tried to kill her.

With his thoughts racing in a million different directions, he activated the Malfoys’ floo system and let himself be whisked back to his house, where he indulged in a nice, stiff drink, and tried to forget about the day’s unexpected events.


	3. Chapter 3

In the three weeks she’d been at Malfoy Manor, Ameria London had seen another person exactly four times, and she’d left her room exactly once. The first two times she’d seen someone, it had been Lucius come to gather a sample of her hair, followed by her blood. Those were the same day, about four days after she’d arrived. 

The third time she’d seen someone, it was a week and a half after she’d arrived. A rather pale man with greasy black hair had come in, asked her to cast a spell over a potion, and then left as soon as she’d done so. She hadn’t even gotten his name.

The fourth and final time she’d seen someone had been three days ago, and it had also been the only time she’d gotten out of her room. The black-haired man had returned, asked her to follow him, and he’d promptly led her to the gardens, let her walk around for thirty minutes, and returned her to her room. Once again, she’d missed his name, and she was growing rather frustrated.

Now, she sat on her bed, reading a book. The books had started appearing her sixth day at the Manor, and she dove into them, grateful for the distraction. They may have been tomes filled with blood, gore, and curses with reprehensible effects, but none of that bothered her. To her, it was simply another book.

She was in the midst of learning about an insanity-inducing curse when there were three sharp raps on her door. “Miss London?”

She sighed, before setting the book aside and wandlessly unlocking the door. “Come in,” she called, before adding a “you will anyways” under her breath.

She heard the soft rustle of the door against the rug, and when she glanced over, she was shocked to see not Lucius or her black-haired visitor, but the Dark Lord himself. “You were quite right, child,” he stated, and there were undertones of amusement in his voice. “I would’ve come in whether you unlocked your door or not. However, thank you for being polite.”

Ameria turned to the man and shrugged. “I would rather not have my door blown off its hinges,” she returned. “I have a feeling that I wouldn’t get another one.”

She was again surprised to hear a light chuckle. “You have quite the sense of humor, Miss London.”

Against her will, she felt a smile claim her face. “Thank you,” she laughed. “I do try and keep things light.”

“Light is one thing that affairs here are decidedly not,” Voldemort replied, matching her smile with a small one of his own. It had been almost two decades since he had last smiled, really smiled. However, this young girl in front of him,  _ his daughter _ , he reminded himself, had a sense of humor to match her mother’s.

It was her turn to laugh. “Then maybe I’m here for a reason,” she quipped.

At that, Voldemort crossed the room to her small balcony, resting his hands on the banister as he surveyed the Malfoys’ grounds. “Speaking of reasons for things,” he sighed, bracing himself to ask his following question. “What can you tell me about your father?”

“What?”

The man’s hand clenched and unclenched on the banister. “What can you tell me about your father, Miss London?”

“No, I heard you the first time,” she clarified. “Just why?”

The Dark Lord turned back to face her and shrugged elegantly, seeming more human to her than he had in their last encounter. Perhaps it was because he was admitting there was something he didn’t know, she thought, or maybe it was that he was taking the time to ask her questions he genuinely seemed to care about the answer to. “I’m simply curious.”

She turned on her bed so that she was facing him, and adjusted herself so that she was sitting cross-legged. “I don’t know much,” she admitted. “My mother was rather vague whenever I asked.”

“Will you tell me what you do know?” he queried, moving to take a seat in one of the chairs near her window.

“My mother used to speak of him fondly, when she did,” the girl said, running a hand through her hair. “She told me that he was a wonderful man. He knew when to be hard, she said, and when to be the most gentle person on Earth. He was an adoring husband, and a loving father.”

She took a breath before laughing humorlessly. “She also told me of how he was ruthless. He was a man with a vision and would stop at nothing to achieve it. Mom was drawn to his power, but she recognized the need for a calming presence in his life. She wanted to be that person for him. So she loved him through the nights he’d come home covered in blood. She’d heal his cuts while she kissed him good morning. That’s what I know of my father.”

Voldemort had listened to the girl describe her father with rapt attention, wondering what she’d know. As it was, he felt the beginnings of an emotion he’d long since locked away bubbling up in him. Was it sadness? He pushed the thought away quickly. He was the Dark Lord. He did  _ not _ get sad.

“Did your mother ever tell you who your father was?”

“Unfortunately, no,” the girl sighed, shaking her head. “It was the one question she never answered.”

“I see,” he sighed, before taking a deep breath. It was somewhat amusing to her, that he would do something as human as breathing deeply, but she kept the thought to herself. It didn’t seem like the time to bring something like that up. “I am going to tell you something, Miss London. I ask that you listen to me and do not try to hex me into oblivion until I finish.”

She nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

“I agree,” he smiled, before pausing. “Miss London, I am your father.”

He was not prepared for the girl to keel over laughing on her bed. “Oh my god,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “That’s hilarious.”

“What, Miss London, is so funny about that revelation? I am entirely serious!”

She wiped at a stray tear. “You’ve never seen Star Wars, have you?”

“Star what?” The confusion on his face was evident in his voice.

“Uh, nevermind. It’s a nomaj thing,” she explained, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself.

“Well, regardless of your American humors,” he replied. “The fact remains that I  _ am _ your father.”

She looked at him for a long moment, searching for the hints of a lie in his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“There is no reason for me to lie about such a thing, child,” he shrugged. “I have power. I have the combined fortunes of my followers at my fingertips. People fear my name. What do I have to gain from lying to an American schoolgirl that nobody here has heard of?”

She knew that his argument made perfect sense, of course, but she had a hard time believing him. “You have a point. But are you sure?”

“I’ve had my suspicions from the moment I saw your tattoo,” he admitted. “However, I have still held you here for three weeks. Think of the visits you have received from my associates. Why would we have needed samples of your hair, your blood, and your magic, if not to ascertain your paternity?”

She snorted. “I don’t know, maybe you were trying to clone me?”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. If he had had hair, he would have been pulling it out, but he settled for a frustrated huff. “Child, I am trying to have a serious discussion with you. Please do respect that.”

It was his daughter’s turn to roll her eyes. “First, I have a name, so there’s no need to call me ‘child’. It’s Ameria London if you want to use it. Second, you try to kill me three weeks ago, and then you come in here and tell me I’m your daughter after keeping me locked in this room like a prisoner. I’m sorry, I’m not really feeling like you want me here,” she fired back.

The man sighed and ran his hands over his bald scalp. “Forgive me. It’s been many years since the part of me that was a family man had reason to exist.”

She shook her head. “Well I suggest you figure out how to be one then,” she replied. “And when you do, my door is open. Until then, please...please leave.”

Voldemort stood, his thin frame towering over his daughter. “As you wish, Ameria,” he relented, and with that, he swept from the room, his long grey robes trailing behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

In the weeks that followed Voldemort’s revelation, Ameria had noticed him all but avoiding her. If she entered a room he was in, the man left, and he had yet to request her presence or seek her out. Then again, she had told him to leave, and not to come back until he was willing to act like he actually cared about her. Maybe he’d actually listened.

In the absence of her father, she had taken to entertaining herself in the vast libraries of the Manor. No longer confined to her room, she’d jumped at the opportunity to explore, and, just to spite her father, had started with the wing farthest from the room she was staying in.

It was curled up in this library that the Dark Lord found her, lost to the world as she absorbed one of the various tomes. Smiling, he cleared his throat, and chuckled as the girl jumped.

“Christ!” she exclaimed. “How long have you been lurking?”

“Long enough,” he replied calmly, a ghost of a smirk flitting across his lips.

“And what do you want?”

“What makes you think I want anything?”

The girl eyed her father wearily, not sold on the idea that this was just an innocent conversation. “Dark Lords don’t just have conversations with people.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be the Dark Lord right now.”

She was sure that his chuckle was a result of the disbelief on his face. “Bollocks.”

The man shook his head and shifted into the seat opposite hers, seeming almost human as he propped his feet up on the small table between them. “Language, Miss London.”

“I’ll speak as I please,” she replied. “If you haven’t noticed, I don’t do well with orders.”

“Child-”

“I am not your servant, and I have made that clear,” she reminded him. “Don’t expect me to act as though I am.”

There was silence for a minute as her father processed that.  _ How long has it been, _ she thought,  _ since someone has challenged him? How long since he has done anything but reign supreme? _

When he spoke again, it was strained. “You told me to come find you when I was ready to become your father,” he said. “I don’t know if that will ever be something I am ready for.”

“Then why are you here?” she responded, cocking her eyebrow. “To kill me?”

“No.” The Dark Lord shook his head, and for a fleeting moment, something flashed through his eyes. Nervousness, maybe? But then it was gone, as quickly as it had come, and he was once again the cool, detached man he had been when he entered. “I am not here to kill you. I was coming to see if you’d like to come to dinner.”

“Dinner?” she echoed, disbelief lacing her words. “You want me to come to dinner with you?”

“To be clear, it’s with the Malfoys, but-”

“Yes.” She cut him off clearly and decisively, not waiting for her father to finish. “Dinner sounds wonderful.”

He nodded, and it was almost as if he was relieved by her acceptance of his invitation. “Good. I’ll let Lucius know. You’ll find dinner robes in your room.”

She stood, nodding as well. “Now, you mean?”

“Yes. Dinner’s in an hour.”

“Very well then,” she replied, swallowing the protests that had begun to rise in her throat. “I’ll see you there.”

“You know the way to the dining room?” her father queried, clearly disbelieving.

“I’ll find it.” And with that last response, she swept from the room, quietly keeping to the shadows as she found her way back to her quarters.

Once she was safely inside, she slumped against the dresser and took the opportunity to take a long look at herself in the mirror. Her blond locks were as long as they’d ever been, and her emerald eyes still shone back at her. Her frame was still lithe, and she knew she could still slip through the shadows when no one was looking. For all intents and purposes, she was still Ameria London, so why did she no longer recognize herself?

She toyed with the thought as she took a long bath, soaking in the water and wishing it would drown away all the problems she’d encountered since her arrival in Britain. A man who tried to kill her. A father. A father who’d tried to kill her. A father who’d tried to kill her and then asked her to dinner. A father who’d tried to kill her and then asked her to dinner with a man who had also tried to kill her.

Merlin, she was fucked.

After making sure she was presentably clean, she staggered out of the bath, body switching to autopilot as she slipped into the dinner robes someone had sent up for her. They were nicer than anything she’d owned in years, and she wondered if the person who had picked them out knew that. They seemed to be made of a wonderfully light silk, and she sighed. She hadn’t worn silk since she was a child.

She shrugged away the memories that were trying to bubble to the surface of her consciousness as she charmed her hair into a passable updo. By no means was she a master of beauty charms, but she could still clean up alright, and after a few minutes, she was pleased with what she saw and slipped on her shoes.

She found herself meandering down the halls a few moments later, and wished she hadn’t been so quick to turn away her father’s offer of help. Truthfully, she had no clue where she was going. She hadn’t wanted to let him know that, though. She hadn’t wanted to let him know anything.

She resented him. He seemed certain he was her father, yet earlier he’d made it plenty clear that it wasn’t a role he was ready to assume. He’d also made it clear that he saw no benefit to being her father, and considering that it had taken him weeks to even acknowledge her, it wasn’t something he was actively looking to justify. And if what her mother had told her was anything to go by, he was a man who did nothing without justification.

She realized when she bumped into something that she had quite literally gotten lost in her thoughts.  _ No, _ she realized as she stepped back, absently rubbing her forehead,  _ I have most definitely not bumped into anything as harmless as a something. _

Indeed, the scrawny boy glaring at her from behind a fringe of blonde hair seemed rather like a caged animal. He seemed to shrink away from her, yet still stood with some air of aristocracy about him. It was his eyes, though, that betrayed him, flashing with fear, anger, and several other emotions he couldn’t quite name.

“Well?” he spat. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“I-I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I was trying to find the dining room.”

“And you managed to find your way to the absolute farthest wing from it, seems reasonable,” he sneered, shoving past her.

“I’m being honest,” she insisted. “You look kind of like Lucius, but younger.”

All traces of nerves had fallen away from the blonde, and he leaned casually against a wall, his greater height leaving him to glower down at her. “I would hope so. He’s my father.”

A relieved sigh brushed past her lips before she could stop it. “So you can help me then! I think I’m already late.”

“Like I’d ever help you,” he laughed, turning away from her. As soon as he went to walk off, though, he found himself unable, frozen mid-step.

“You can help me find the dining room,” she repeated, her voice eerily calm as she lowered her wand, “or you can see what happens to wizards who make me mad.”

It wasn’t a surprise when the blonde nodded his assent, and her spell ended as soon as it had been effected. “Follow me, then,” he whispered, waving her after him as he disappeared into a corridor she hadn’t even seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have young Mr. Malfoy! I promise that he does get more likable(or at least, he starts to annoy Ameria less), but for now, his ego is still a bit big. Voldy will also get it together soon, but, well, he's a bit of work, and that's just who he is. As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
